Having just read The Polar Express to my two young sons, I was reminded of Christmas, 1965, when I was seven. The Polar Express is about a boy who still defends Santa Claus as real and travels to the North Pole to bring back a bell from Santa's sleigh to prove it.
When I was seven, I didn't have a stocking like my sons do now. I had kneesocks and I thumb-tacked a red one to the mantle before I went to bed. None of my three older brothers thought it would do me any good, but I insisted.
The sound of sleigh bells woke me during the night. I knew it had to be Santa, although I didn't look outside for fear he wouldn't leave any presents if he saw me.
The next morning, I told everyone about the sleigh bells I'd heard and I remember my mom pointing me toward my stocking. As my brothers and I stared in awe, it bulged with fruits, nuts and candy. At that moment, I knew Santa was real and the sleigh bells weren't my imagination. To this day, that year remains my most memorable Christmas.
Peace on Earth---
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